Disclaimer
This is an unofficial short story set in Games Workshop’s Warhammer 40,000 universe.
“FILLION!”
Fillion wondered why someone was waking him when he was sleeping so well.
“FILLION!”
Fillion lifted his head and tried to answer, but all that came out was a weak cough. Dirt. In his mouth. He tried to spit it out.
“Fillion!” Weaker now. It was his mother.
“Mom,” he croaked.
His head pounded, and there was a ringing in his ears. He blinked his eyes. Where was he? He moved his arms and pain shot through his body like he’d never experienced before. He was lying on the ground among rubble and dust. Why would he be sleeping on the ground outside? It was cold. Fillion wasn’t even wearing a jacket.
“FILLION!”
All sound was muffled. Suddenly, he heard a loud booming sound. That scared him.
“MOM!”
He sat up. He was next to his home, but the house roof had collapsed and a large part of the building as well. What had he been doing? He’d been reading. And then… And then what? Why was he covered in dust?
“MOM!” he shouted, and that made his head throb like crazy. There was a popping sound and he could hear again. He heard screams. Guns firing.
“FILLION!” His mother ran to him and sank down to her knees and held his face between his hands. “Are you all right?”
Then he remembered. He’d been reading, as he usually did. Reading ain’t putting no food on the table, as his father always said. He’d heard an explosion. Close by. He’d walked up to the window. The next explosion was in his house. Then blackness.
“Fillion, can you hear me?”
Fillion focused on his mother’s face and nodded.
“Can you walk?”
He tried moving his legs and nodded again.
“We must take cover.”
She pulled him up on his feet, and that annoyed him. He wasn’t a baby anymore. He was five, almost six. She pulled him toward their toolshed. What was left of it. Two out of four walls were gone. Shots from a lasgun nearby made her whelp. She pulled him into the corner of the two remaining walls. Where the roof was, Fillion had no idea. His mother sat down and pulled him into her arms. Once he was there, she unfolded a blanket she’d had with her in a bag slung over her shoulder and covered their bodies with it. It was the blanket they usually had on the couch. Usually it was pink. Or yellow. His mother fiddled with the color setting on the blanket and it turned light brown. Almost like the ground and dust around them.
“What’s happening, mother?”
“An attack,” she said in a low voice. “They hit our house with artillery fire. You must’ve been thrown clear by the explosion. I thought I’d lost you.” Her voice cracked with her last words.
“It’s fine, mother. I’m fine. Where is father?”
“He ran to the militia armory. Was going to get an infrared scanner to see if you’d been buried under the rubble.”
More lasguns firing close by made them go quiet. A guard from their outpost militia ran by without noticing them, and then pressed against a wall not far from them. Fillion clearly saw the insignia on his uniform, the blue ’22’. Outpost 22 on Daethe, Nachmund sector. Fillion didn’t remember the trip. He’d been only two years old when they’d travelled there. The guard looked around the corner, then ducked back. He took a few quick breaths and then leaned around the corner, aiming his lasgun. Fillion had held one of those rifles. It was so heavy. The man fired twice and then ducked back. He then leaned forward to peek around the corner, to see the result of his handiwork. He did not see the hulking figure that came up from behind. Fillion’s heart pounded with joy at first. A Space Marine! They were saved. Which chapter was that? Red armor. Blood Angels? Then Fillion noticed the bronze trimming and spikes all over the armor. He gasped. That was a Chaos Space Marine. A traitor to the Emperor, pledging his allegiance to the powers of chaos. The Marine looked twice as big as the guard in his bulky armor. The guard turned as he noticed the presence behind him, but it was too late. A massive chainsword almost tore the man in half as the Marine struck him. Fillion felt his mother’s grip tighten around him. The Marine was no more than 5 meters away from them. He bent forward, grabbed something on the ground and again used his chainsword to cut something.
“Blood for the blood God! Skulls for the skull throne!” he shouted with a metallic voice as he held up the guard’s severed head.
His mother whimpered in terror. The enormous Chaos Space Marine froze in mid-motion. Then he turned toward them. He dropped the head and walked to them with determined steps. Fillion thought the eyes on the helmet looked like they were glowing red as they stared at them.
A metallic chuckle. “More blood…”
He raised the chainsword again. Fillion couldn’t take his eyes off of it. This was going to be the last thing he ever saw.
“I love you, mom,” he whispered.
Before the monster brought down his weapon on them, a shot hit the Marine. Not a lasgun shot. Something else. Something Fillion had never seen or heard before. The soldier turned to face his attacker and then Fillion saw him. A green, armored figure came, leaping over a wall with lightning speed and the agility and grace of a cat. Fillion gasped. It was a xenomorph. A warrior of the Aeldari. The two warriors clashed in front of them, the Marine raising his big chainsword to parry the sleek designed chainsword of the Striking Scorpion Aspect warrior. Fillion had read about them the other day. The chaos warrior reeled from the kinetic energy of the charging Aeldari, but held his ground and pushed back. The green figure moved flowingly. Almost like he was dancing. The Chaos Space Marine charged with a howl, but the Scorpion dodged the attack with ease and before the Marine recovered his posture, the Mandiblasters on the Striking Scorpion’s helmet fired and the traitor sank to its knees, going motionless. The Scorpion stepped forward and gave the warrior a good shove with his foot, sending the dead chaos marine sprawling on the ground. The alien scanned the battlefield as Fillion rose from his mother.
“No,” his mother wheezed, but she failed to grab him as he walked toward their rescuer.
The alien whipped his head toward them and had Fillion in his focus as the small boy came up to him. Fillion reached out with his arm and used his sleeve to rub a stain of blood from the knee of the green armor.
“There, that looks better,” Fillion said.
The warrior lowered, so his head was at the same height as Fillion’s and took off his helmet. It wasn’t a he at all. It was a she. She was beautiful. She smiled and spoke softly. Fillion had no idea what she said. Her speech almost sounded like singing, but it was a language like no other he’d heard. She took something from a pouch on her armor and gave it to Fillion. Fillion looked down at it in his palm. It was a small symbol made of a golden metal. She pointed to the rune and then on her armor, where the same rune was engraved. Fillion held the token with both hands and pressed it to his chest.
“Thank you,” he said.
That’s when he saw the other four Striking Scorpions. They were standing behind Fillion’s savior. The female alien put her helmet back on and lead the squad of elegant warriors back into battle. Fillion stood there. Watching. Until he saw them no more. Then he examined the gift again. It was light, but felt very durable. He would look at it thousands of times during his lifetime. He would grow up to be a scholar, researching the alien Aeldari race, but he would never again see one with his own eyes.
THE END